


Zenith: Reap

by Shapooda



Series: Zenith [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Bare-Knuckle Boxing, Complete, Death, Flashback, Gen, Hollow - Freeform, Italian Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/pseuds/Shapooda
Summary: Irmán (Galacian): Brother





	1. Irmán

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irmán (Galacian): Brother

**Notes:**

I wanted to write out Grimmjow’s death, but a take by take didn’t seem to fit into Zenith, so here it is as a oneshot. I’d treat it as an AU, to be honest. This story is a reference to chapter 28: Segunda Etapa, of Zenith, but it can be read on it’s own. Little bit of Ichi and Grimm talking in the "present" at the end of the last chapter.

 

Assume everyone is speaking Galego or Spanish. The time period is somewhere around the 80s.

 

 _Disclaimer:_ I don’t own Bleach. This takes place in fantasy land, any gang references or names may be based in reality, but the content is entirely fictional. This is by no means a history lesson, this is a work of fiction for funsies.

 

Ganbari masu!

 

**Irmán**

 

_Pride will always be the longest distance between two people._

 

\--- xxx ---

 

_Vilagarcía de Arousa; Province of Pontevedra, Galicia_

 

A hot wind drew dusty lines through the town. A mule brayed in the distance, and the murmur and clamor of the market was carried on the sea breeze with the scent of fish and salt. It was early in the day, the market was cast in the shadow of the hills, but the air was already muggy and heavy.

 

The crowds were still thin, but even if they weren’t, no one wanted anything to do with Jaeger. The crowd always unconsciously parted for him. His hair was a shocking shade of blonde among brunette’s, he was destined to stand out. If it wasn’t bad enough that he was so obviously foreign, it was clear from the ever present scowl on his face and the tattoos littering his arms that he was doing his best to tear himself apart from society.

 

He spotted Arturo in his usual spot, in a heated, but hushed argument with a man he’d seen hanging around once or twice. Arturo was deeply tanned, dark hair tousled in a way only a morning out on the sea could manage.

 

The man he was in a disagreement with looked like _his_ kind of people, not Arturo’s. He was big and broad shouldered, tattooed, and with a face that had been on the receiving end of too many punches. Whenever Jaeger showed up, the man made himself scarce and he’d never been able to follow him. The town wasn’t that big, but it was big enough that you could easily lose someone, and not everyone was a familiar face.

 

As usual, he got close and Arturo and the man parted. His friend flashed him a stiff smile as he approached, not quite managing to hide his annoyance. Grimmjow’s eyes tracked the man as he filtered into the crowd and asked, “Where’s the old man?”

 

Arturo lifted a shoulder in a shrug, hauling the crate he’d stopped in the middle of moving. “His back is acting up. Same old, same old.” He dropped the crate full of seafood the rest of the way to the ground, betraying his frustration. He turned back for another. “You gonna stand there or help?”

 

Jaeger grinned, leaning against the wall. “I’m not just going to stand here, I’m going to watch.” He pulled out a cigarette, cupping his lighter against the breeze.

 

Arturo dropped another crate, the distance even higher this time, and the resulting clatter of noise was enough to draw some attention. “Then scram, you’ll scare away my customers.”

 

He took a long drag, asking, “Who was that guy?”

 

“What guy?”

 

Jaeger gestured in the direction the man had left with a sharp jerk of his head. “ _That guy,_ don’t be stupid.”

 

Arturo wouldn't look at him. He gave those crates so much focus and concentration he might as well have been staring down into a casket, not a pile of stinking fish. “No one.” He used a tone of such forced nonchalance it was painful, Arturo was a shit liar.

 

“Well obviously he ain't no one, dumbass, or he wouldn't be skulking around. He ain't a _fisherman_ , that's for sure.”

 

Arturo looked flustered, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. He leaned in close, brows drawn in worry. “Just forget it, okay?”

 

Jaeger grit his teeth, chewing the end of his cigarette. He let it go, but now he was more than casually interested, he was concerned. Every time he'd seen this guy, Arturo's old man was never around. Which meant he was sneaking around behind his back.

 

Arturo started to turn away, but Jaeger caught him by the front of his shirt, dragging him back. Arturo’s voice dropped, grabbing his wrist. “Look man, it’s none of your business.”

 

“I've got something to say! I'm the screwup, not you. Whatever you're into...”

 

Something sparked in Arturo’s eyes, something he hadn't seen there before. Hate.

 

His friend shoved him off, and Jaeger was too stunned to argue. Arturo turned back to unloading the fish. “Scram, Jaeger, you're scaring away the money.”

 

Jaeger stared at his back for a long moment, took another drag, then threw down the cigarette to crush it under his heel. This might’ve started as teasing, but now it was backed with real anger. He’d been drifting further away from his friend for years, but it had been instigated by himself until that moment. It didn’t feel good.

 

He turned to go, stepping into the sunlight, blonde hair blazing like fire. It felt too warm for how cold he suddenly felt. Arturo’s voice stopped him. “What the hell did you come here for anyway?”

 

He looked back over his shoulder shoving his thumbs into his pockets. “I’m not allowed to see you?”

 

Arturo tossed a rag into the back of van, taking a seat on the tailgate. He glared at him, and from the shade, his brown eyes looked black. “You only ever come by when you want something.”

 

Was that true? Jaeger frowned, aware that the last time he’d come by had been to borrow money. He didn’t mean for it to be that way. Most of the time even looking at Arturo filled him with guilt, and little by little, he’d stopped visiting.

 

He swallowed, his throat tight. “Was just gonna tell you I’ve got a fight tonight. That’s all.” He thought he did a pretty convincing job of hiding his pain.

 

It was an important match, he’d wanted him to be there, no matter how stupid he felt about it.

 

Arturo said nothing, he just glared at him. His opinion mattered, and he’d just given it to him.

 

Jaeger left before it got even more awkward.

 

Now he was angry and upset, and he had a whole day of time to kill. He pulled out another crumpled cigarette, chewing on the end. He only had two left, and he didn’t have the money for more.

 

He hadn’t gone to Arturo looking for handouts, not this time, but that he’d brushed him off stung.

 

He put the cigarette back, having some self control, and wandered around town until it got too hot, heading down to the docks. He was stepping onto the pier when he was stopped by a familiar face. He immediately turned on his heel, heading the other way.

 

Manuel threw his arms out like he was insulted. “Don’t be that way, amigo!”

 

“We ain’t friends!” he called back.

 

“We can talk now or we can talk later, but we’re gonna talk, amigo.” The mock friendliness was still there, but there was a warning undercurrent.

 

Jaeger ground his teeth, then paused, letting him catch up. Manuel threw his arm over his shoulder like they were good friends and it made his skin crawl. The man reeked of beer and sweat, but he knew beneath that jacket he was carrying. Ignoring him really would be stupid. He demanded, “Talk about what?”

 

“You’ve been gettin’ real good in those fight’s ain’tcha?” He squeezed his shoulder. “Real good. Word is your little match with Diego is drawing some big dogs. It’s gonna be a close fight.”

 

Jaeger tensed, leaning away, but Manuel tightened his grip. He could shoulder him off if he really wanted to, but the threat wasn’t a physical one. “Yeah, so?”

 

“You’re going to lose.”

 

He clenched his jaw, his guts twisting in distaste. “If I don’t?”

 

Manuel stopped smiling. “You’re going to lose. Oubiña is betting a lot of money against you.”

 

“Why?”

 

Manuel patted his chest and withdrew with a shrug. “Politics? I don’t get paid enough to know that, and neither do you.”

 

Jaeger wet his lips, aching for a cigarette. “I need the money.”

 

Manuel laughed like that was the funniest goddamn thing in the world. “Oubiña will make it worth your while, neno.” He gave him a rough pat on the back. “Be a team player.”

 

Jaeger watched him turn to go, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

 

 _Lose_.

 

That word rang in his head like a death knell.

 

He pulled out his crumpled cigarette, lightning up with trembling hands. He sat on the edge of the pier, scowling down at the water.

 

The smoke burned his lungs, satisfying his craving, but it was a growing, persistent thing. He couldn’t stop thinking about that look on Arturo’s face. Like he was scum, unwanted. Hated.

 

Arturo was under a lot of stress, but his disappointment and resentment towards him felt deserved.

 

“Fuck…” He flicked the spent cigarette into the sea. It floated there a moment, a fish mouthing at it before it and the fish disappeared into the depths. Gulls screamed overhead, and it felt like they were laughing at him.

 

This match was a big deal; Diego was good, he was from the city, people knew him. No one knew who he was outside of this shitty little town. All he was good at was fighting. He fought everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it; he didn’t know why he did that.

 

Arturo was taking over his father’s business, he had a future, skills people gave a shit about. What did _he_ do? Hurt people. He dug in his heels and fought, but for what purpose?

 

When they were kids, Arturo use to say that he better get good, because his looks were his only redeeming quality. He’d meant it as a joke, but fuck if it hadn’t sat with him for years.

 

He’d always been violent, it wasn’t a shock he’d started to fight more and more seriously. He’d found something he was good at, he was proud of himself. He’d started with small jobs for the Oubiña clan. Little things. He’d protect something that needed to get from one place to another, he’d knock a guy around a little, he’d pick up money. Small stuff.

 

One underground fight was all it took to hook him. He thought he was getting away from Oubiña, but clearly he was wrong.

 

When he fought, people actually looked at him. They didn’t see a thug, or a foreigner, they saw their champion. They cheered for him, they wanted him to win.

 

And he kept on winning, he hardly ever lost anymore. He was a pantera, o cazador, he fought to _win_ , he was the king of the ring.

 

 _Throw the match_.

 

He clenched his hands into fists, his limbs still trembling.

 

No.

 

He was the king.

 

\--- xxx ---

 

Thanks for reading!

 

**Galician Translations**

Neno: kid

A pantera: the panther

o cazador: the hunter

 


	2. King

**Notes:**

This story is a reference to chapter 28: Segunda Etapa, of Zenith, but it can be read on it’s own.

 

Assume everyone is speaking Galego or Spanish. The time period is somewhere around the 80s.

 

_ Disclaimer:  _ I don’t own Bleach. This takes place in fantasy land, any gang references or names may be based in reality, but the content is entirely fictional. This is by no means a history lesson, this is a work of fiction for funsies. Also, I don’t know anything about boxing, I’m a filthy liar.

 

Ganbari masu!

  
  


**King**

 

“It is not a sign of arrogance for the king to rule. That is what he is there for.” -William F. Buckley, Jr.

 

\--- xxx ---

 

_ Vilagarcía de Arousa; Province of Pontevedra, Galicia _

 

Moths and bugs fluttered around lamps in the courtyard, cigarette smoke rising from the dense crowd of people. There was the gentle cacophony that accompanied a crowd, a laugh or shout rising above the murmur, but the energy level thrummed like a live wire.

 

Jaeger sat at the top of a flight of stairs, watching the growing crowd in silence. He bounced his knee, his nerves bundled in his stomach in a nauseating mix of adrenaline, anticipation, and dread.

 

The scent of sweat and sweet tobacco was only disrupted by the occasional teasing caress of the sea breeze, the clamor of the crowd bouncing off ancient stone walls. He wanted to smoke, but he’d gone through the last of it hours ago in his stress.

 

He kept scanning the crowd for Arturo, he didn’t know why he bothered. He’d catch a flash out of the corner of his eye, but like a spectre, every time he faced it, he saw only strangers. 

 

The first and only fight Arturo had ever seen, Jaeger had lost.  _ Miserably _ . The other guy had split his knuckles open on his face. He’d looked like shit, and he’d had a cracked rib and a faceful of blood to show for it. He’d hated losing,  _ loathed _ it. It was as bitter as the blood and bile on his tongue. Arturo brought him home, his disapproval so thick on him, he hadn’t spoken a single word to him all night. 

 

He remembered how badly it had stung; the rejection. He thought it might have been just as bad if Arturo had seen him win, Arturo simply didn’t approve. It wasn’t just the gambling or the crowd, it was the violence itself. 

 

He and his father patched him up, and he’d stayed the night, nursing a bottle of Orujo in place of painkillers. He’d sat up all night, hurting and miserable. Arturo’s father had looked at him with so much pity, he’d felt sick, and it had carried on through the night.

 

Maybe it should have dampened his desire, but all it had done was fuel the flames. He hated being pitied, he wanted to win.

 

He stood up, making his way to the other side of the courtyard. It was getting late, but the time crawled by, compounding a decade’s worth of doubts and desire and fear into the span of a few hours.

He saw Diego at a distance, but it wasn’t the man he cared about, he faded into the background, just another person in a sea of strangers.

 

Arturo wasn’t there. 

 

Ten minutes.

 

Five.

 

Was it stupid to hope?

 

Then he was facing Diego, rolling his shoulders. Jaeger pulled his shirt off, exposing alabaster skin, and all the ink he’d used to try to hide it in his younger days. His arms and back were littered with tattoos, some barely meant anything, others meant too much. He was different, the outsider, but now he embraced it. They said he fought like a feral cat, a wild thing.  Oubiña wanted to tame him and strip him of his claws? Fuck you.

 

Diego was just another obstacle.

 

He was going to win, fuck all of them, he was the king.

 

He got the signal to start, and he abandoned all caution. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he lunged in, throwing himself into a cross punch. Diego pulled back and guarded his face, and Jaeger felt a wave of disgust.  _ Coward _ . 

 

He went at him hard and fast, dodging as many punches as he took, but for every blow that connected, all that managed to do was piss him off even more.

 

He was smiling, teeth red and bloody. Hopping from foot to foot. His jabs were fast, he could see Diego slipping, struggling to keep up. 

 

He danced around his opponent, and he forgot about the crowd, they were just noise, a backdrop to his violence. Jaeger’s stance was loose, his guard too open, his technique sloppy, but that didn’t seem to matter. He just wanted to hurt someone; he wanted to feel the cost of failure in the creak of his bones and the blood drying sticky on his skin.

 

His hands were aching, knuckles sore and pain spiked in his side with every breath, but none of that slowed him down. His face was locked in a rictus of joy, his laughter bordering on madness. He snapped and snarled insults, he didn’t even remember them the second they left his mouth.

 

He brought the other man down to the ground, hitting him again, and again, his grin turning savage, hateful. Something stopped his fist short, hands pulling him back and off Diego. He kicked him, a hair’s breadth away from spitting on him when he was dragged away. 

 

He panted, ears ringing, and was aware of the crowd screaming, egging him on. Too many people were between him and Diego, laughing, shouting. He was dragged through the crowd by his arm, and he threw a bloody fist up in victory.

 

The roar of approval that erupted from the crowd sent a shiver over his arms and neck. He wasn’t invisible, he wasn’t nothing, he was worth something, even if just for that moment. 

 

He didn’t even look to see who was pulling him away, but they dragged him off the street and into a dimly lit room, throwing him down in a chair. The crowd was still loud, but it was distant, muffled. Manuel was there, and he wasn’t smiling. 

 

The man paced in front of him, swiping a hand over his face. “You stupid fucker…you fucked up his face real good, do you know whose nephew that is?”

 

“Who cares?”

 

Manuel whirled, backhanding him. His head snapped to the side, pain blazing across his jaw and the side of his neck. Jaeger chuckled, a breathy sound, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “You hit like a limp wristed grandmother.”

 

Manuel’s fist connected with his gut, and he doubled over, winded. He coughed, then forced a smile, gripping Manuel’s shirt to keep him close. He hissed,  _ “I won _ .”

 

The man shoved his hands off, a look of disgust curling his lips. “Crazy motherfucker.” He gestured vaguely at the door, pacing again. “Get out of my sight.”

 

Grimmjow heaved himself to his feet with a wince, swaying on his feet. He swiped his arm over his face, smearing blood and sweat, and pushed past what appeared to be hired muscle. They didn’t stop him, and with another fight going, he was all but forgotten.

 

He won. 

 

Fuck them all.

 

\--- xxx ---

 

Jaeger didn’t want to go home, if it could even be called that. He was already starting to feel the pain, the adrenaline was wearing off, but hell if he was going to whine like a bitch about it. 

 

With a faceful of blood, anyone that crossed his path made themselves scarce. That was fine with him, he wanted to be alone. 

 

He went to the ocean, stumbling on rocks in the dark, but he made it down to the surf. He rinsed off, the salt stinging torn flesh. He embraced the pain, it was nothing but proof.

 

He couldn’t stop thinking of Arturo.

 

Why had he wanted him to come? 

 

Why did it matter?

 

He threw rocks into the surf, his shoulder aching, and his head throbbing. He was hungry, but his guts were twisted up in knots of worry.

 

It must have been an hour before he noticed someone on the docks. He would know that walk anywhere, even a glimpse was enough to tell him who it was. Arturo?

 

He stared, confused. His friend walked quickly, with purpose, head down and his hands stuffed into jacket pockets. 

 

Jaeger scrambled up the rocks, jogging to catch up to him. “Hey!”

 

Arturo froze in his tracks, then slowly turned. 

 

It was dark, and it felt like there was an immeasurable distance between them, but he could still see that trapped, wild look on his face. It stopped Jaeger short, brows drawn tight. “Arturo?”

 

His friend contemplated running, he could see it in the way his spine stiffened, like a startled doe. A moment passed, and Jaeger didn’t even breathe, afraid he would scare him away. Defeat won out and his shoulders sagged. He stood, unmoving, waiting for Jaeger to approach. 

 

He'd never seen Arturo so jumpy before. Even when they were younger and stupider, vandalizing and trespassing, he'd never seen him so afraid. 

 

He walked up to him, but before he could speak, Arturo beat him to it, deflecting any inquiries with questions of his own. “What happened to your shirt? You look like shit.”

 

He didn't remember? “I had a fight.”

 

Arturo shifted, distracted. “Oh. I forgot.” 

 

“No shit.” 

 

They stood there, staring at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Jaeger found his voice first. “What's going on?”

 

His friend took a step back, and rage flashed through Jaeger, sudden and sharp. Arturo noticed, steeling his expression, and started to turn away. 

 

Jaeger reached out and grabbed his jacket. “Hey!”

 

Arturo spun, and Jaeger didn’t have time to process it let alone dodge the fist flying at his face. His fist managed to catch him in both the cheekbone and the nose, his eyes watering. He only clipped him, but it hurt like a bitch. He let go by instinct, lifting his hand to his cheek with a hiss. 

 

The pain he could live with, he was use to pain, but his surprise was another monster entirely. Arturo had never hit him before. 

 

His friend stared at him in shock, looking down at his hand like he couldn’t fathom what he’d done. Arturo had never liked violence, let alone used it. 

 

A second passed, two, and Arturo found his anger again. His expression twisted. “What can you do, huh? All you're good for is destroying things.” He didn't yell, his tone was eerily calm, steady. 

 

Jaeger’s threat tightened, his hand leaving his face. He swallowed, and for once tried to forget about himself. “I'm a selfish bastard, I know that.” He ran his fingers through his hair, hand trembling. He wanted a smoke, so badly. “Shit, Arturo, you're my friend-my only fucking friend...let me help you.”

 

Arturo wavered, his brows furrowing. He was breathing hard, hands tight at his sides. “Fuck you…” He rubbed his eyes, then shook his head. 

 

His friend gave him a rough shove back towards the docks, but said nothing. Rather than risk him changing his mind, Jaeger followed in grim silence. 

 

He walked him to his father’s fishing boat, hopping down to the deck. Jaeger followed, and his friend grabbed a light, taking him below deck. 

 

Jaeger’s stomach sank , his heart pounding in his ears. No, no, no.

 

Arturo pushed things out of the way, peeling layers off his hiding place, but Jaeger already knew.

 

He looked down at the pounds of tobacco, neatly bundled and waterproofed, and suddenly his lips were dry. “When?”

 

“A few months ago. I don’t know.” Arturo stared down at it, and with the gleam of the flashlight, he looked pale, skeletal. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, pulling himself from his thoughts, and put it all back the way it had been, working stiffly, but quickly. He’d done this many, many times.

 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask why, but he knew Arturo was expecting it. He asked, “ Oubiña?” His friend merely nodded, throwing the tarp back, and leaned against the wall, the flashlight angled towards the ground. 

 

“This is more than the stress of breaking the law, what happened?”

 

Arturo snorted derisively, his eyes cast downward. Jaeger realized what he was looking at was shame. He’d never seen that look on Arturo’s face before. “My father doesn’t know. His back keeps getting worse, he won’t be able to work, and there’s only less and less money. Oubiña kept asking, and I finally said yes.”

 

His tone became defensive, glaring at Jaeger. “ _ You _ did it, half the town does it? Why couldn’t I?” Jaeger didn’t have an answer for him. His friend let his head fall back against the hull with a dull thud, closing his eyes. He toyed with the flashlight, the beam casting deep, threatening shadows. “Everything was going fine, until an entire shipment was lost. It was tens of thousands of dollars, Jaeger. I’ve been doing all this shit for free. What am I supposed to do? Say no?” 

 

Jaeger didn’t know what to say. “We’ll...we’ll figure it out.”

 

Arturo glared at him, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “How?”

 

“I’ll help you pay it off.”

 

Arturo scoffed. “You can hardly pay for yourself.”

 

“I’ll help you.” He sounded childish, even to his own ears.  _ What could he do? _ Those words were repeated in his head, over and over and over again. His heart beat harder, panic setting in. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

“We…” Arturo’s anger was collapsing in on itself, and in its wake, Jaeger heard only despair. His friend pushed away from the wall. “I have to get up early, it’s late.”

 

It was a dismissal if he ever heard one. Jaeger put himself in Arturo’s path, realizing now what was running his friend haggard. He said, “I’ll think of something.”

 

Arturo started up the stairs, Jaeger following close behind him, following the light. Arturo and he moved back to the dock, standing in silence. “ Meu pai asks about you.”

 

Jaeger asked, “What do you tell him?”

 

“Not the truth.” His tone sounded broken, pained. Arturo walked away, hands in his pockets. He murmured, “Goodnight, Jaeger.”

 

\--- xxx ---

 

Jaeger didn’t sleep that night. He got himself a shirt, a proper shower, and something to eat, and went back out, wandering the streets. He wanted to help Arturo, but he was a fuck up. What could he do?

 

He wandered aimlessly, aware his impulsive decision to win that fight had probably cost him more than just reward money. He was broke, and so was Arturo. The difference between them was that he’d crossed  Oubiña on purpose, and Arturo had simply been unlucky. 

 

Always a screwup. Always.

 

He didn’t see Arturo that day, but he hung around the market anyways, hopeful. He didn’t see him.

 

The next day he went straight back, waiting. 

 

He was relieved when he finally spotted him. He wore the same jacket that he had when he’d left the docks, and he looked tired, scared.

 

He let Arturo approach him first, noticing his friend’s eyes were swollen and red. He’d been crying, and the last time he’d seen him cry was when his mother died. “Arturo?”

 

His friend walked past him, expecting to be followed. Jaeger trailed after him, the crowds thinning, until they were nonexistent. 

 

The sun glared off of pale stone, the alley hot, quiet. The low scream of a cicada blended with the backdrop of noise from the market. Arturo turned to face him, tears wet on his cheeks. His voice was thick, hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Jaeger was confused. Pain struck him like lightning. His ears were ringing. His head swam, heart suddenly pounding, and he lifted his hand to his stomach, his fingers hot and wet. He saw the gleam of metal in Arturo’s hand; a gun. He couldn’t understand. 

 

He looked up at Arturo, the raw horror and agony on his face scaring him. His legs gave out, his knees hitting the ground, but they wouldn’t hold him. He couldn’t breathe, he was in so much pain. He gasped, his vision blurring. Arturo ran. He left him.

 

He shot him.

 

He still didn’t understand.

 

He fell, his chest hot, too hot, blood pooling beneath him. 

 

He wanted to go after Arturo, he needed an answer, but his body wouldn’t listen. 

 

Arturo.

 

It was so hard to think.

 

He was suddenly afraid. 

 

_ Arturo... _

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

Okie dokie, one more chapter of the sads, and we can finally get to the supernatural business. Yay!

 

Thanks for reading!

 

**Galician**

meu pai: my father

Arma: gun

Neno: kid

A pantera: the panther

o cazador: the hunter

  
  


 


	3. Reap

**Notes:**

I wanted to write out Grimmjow’s death, but a take by take didn’t seem to fit into Zenith, so here it is as a oneshot. I’d take it as an AU, to be honest. Assume everyone is speaking Galego or Spanish.

 

This takes place in fantasy land, any gang references or names may be based in reality, but the content is entirely fictional.

 

Ganbari masu!

 

**Reap**

 

_ “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. Whatever a man sows, he will reap in return.” -Galatians 6:7 _

 

\--- xxx ---

 

_ Vilagarcía de Arousa; Province of Pontevedra, Galicia _

 

Jaeger was dead.

 

He hadn’t thought he would have any sort of afterlife. Hell, he thought he’d be  _ in hell _ . He ain’t ever stepped foot in a church, he’d probably burn. With all the doom and gloom preached on the street corners, he thought he was on one way trip to that fiery pit. 

 

Instead, he was left standing around, gasping for breath like he’d just run up a mountain. He tugged at the chain on his chest, then realized that was a big nono.

 

No one could see him. He couldn’t really touch anything, or do anything, so he shadowed Arturo. It was weird, seeing his friend after...after what he did. After what he put him through. Why?

 

Why.

 

He saw the distress in the dark circles under Arturo’s eyes as he unpacked fish and repackaged crates. His death...murder, didn’t seem to be sitting well with him.

 

At first he was angry. Good, he  _ should _ be distraught.  _ He killed him _ . Arturo was like a brother to him, and he shot him in the street like he was nobody. 

 

But that wasn’t true. Arturo had been crying. Why?

 

Then Jaeger was confused all over again.

 

Days passed, then weeks, and Arturo got worse. Jaeger couldn’t see  _ why _ , he couldn’t actually leave that place in the market. He only got to see Arturo when he was working, but he never got to see him at night.

 

Every time Jaeger tried to leave, it left him struggling to even breathe, let alone walk, and Arturo walked out of sight, leaving him alone in the dark with the cats and the rats.

 

At least the cats could see him. They hissed, they hated him. Figured.

 

One night was different. The market was clearing up, and someone came to see Arturo. Drifting closer to hear what they said, Jaeger felt a flicker of fear.

 

“...gave you a shot, kid.”

 

Arturo, let go of the box he’d been about to haul and argued, “I make the shipments, what’s the problem.”

 

The man shrugged, ignoring Arturo. “You keep your head down, kid, that’s not bad.” He gestured inside the shack. “How about we talk inside?”

 

Jaeger noticed the street was empty, the two were alone. “No, don’t do it,” Jaeger whispered.

 

Arturo cast a look up and down the street, then asked, “What have I done wrong?”

 

“Nothing, kid.” The man liftd his hand towards his waist, and Jaeger felt a stab of panic. He was panicking, this was wrong.

 

“Don’t call me kid,” Arturo said. His friend reached for something neither the man, nor Jaeger could see, and the man reached for his gun. Arturo lunged, and Jaeger couldn’t stop the wordless sound of panic from clawing at his throat.

 

There was a gunshot, and even as a fucking ghost, it rang in his ears, and never seemed to stop. It rang and rang and Arturo fell into a stack of crates. They scattered to the wet paving stone, the crunch of wood snapping Jaeger out of his shock. Arturo grabbed his side, confusion on his face. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Money, kid. Tough luck.” And the man left him there.He left him.  He left him there to die in that filthy alley with the rats and the cats. 

 

Pain, rage, s **o much rage** . It boiled his blood and filled him with a violence, and desire he’d never felt before.

 

_ How dare they. _

 

His world went red with violence and fury.

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

**Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez**

 

He skipped a stone into the surf, and it hit the curl of a tiny wave and disappeared, lost in the waves. 

 

Kurosaki spoke from his right, voice flat. “You can’t skip rocks in the surf.”

 

Grimmjow threw another, the rotting scent of drying kelp and seafoam burning his nose. This rock met the same fate as the last. He reached down for another pebble to try again. 

 

Kurosaki asked, “Grimmjow?”

 

“What.” Grimmjow answered, twisting his wrist and sending the rock skipping into another small wave. 

 

“Why are we here?”

 

Why...Whywhywhy. “I dunno. I wanted to see the ocean.” He felt Kurosaki’s eyes on him, the hybrid, crouching in the foamy surf. He looked at the other, watching the waves curl around his wrist, soaking into his shihakusho. “Isn’t that cold?”

 

Kurosaki made a sound of agreement, but didn't move. It was winter, the sky was overcast; it was a dreary day. Why did he come here?”

 

Grimmjow remembered hot, humid days standing in the sun, itching for a breeze.

 

The wind here was heavy and cold, and the surf was dark and grey, not the crystal blue he hoped for. He started to talk, and Kurosaki listened. “I remember the ocean, sticky humidity, cigars, the smell of dead fish, sweat.”

 

Kurosaki questioned, “Your life?”

 

“That’s what memories are, aren’t they?” Grimmjow growled. He turned another smooth stone over in his fingers, memorizing the rough texture.

 

“Are they good memories?” Kurosaki asked.

 

“I don’t know, Grimmjow said. “It’s sickeningly nostalgic. I thought if we came here, they would go away.” He felt Kurosaki’s eyes on him in question, so he answered. “It got worse.”

 

It was strange to remember his life. He blamed it on Alteza, but maybe it was simply what happened to arrancar, and no one talked about it. He wouldn’t be surprised, it was a miracle he brought it up with Kurosaki at all. 

 

He looked at the hybrid, tightening his fingers around the stone in his palm. His silhouette was dark in the muddy, grey light. He looked almost like a ghost. Grimmjow asked, “Did you see my memories?”

 

Kurosaki straightened, drying his fingers off on his kosode. “Not really, you can rest easy Grimmjow. Your past is a secret.”

 

Was that what he wanted? Grimmjow looked down at the grey stone in his hand, salty wind cold and moist on his skin. 

 

Grimmjow started to talk. “I remember my death.” Kurosaki stilled, he might as well have been a statue. My best friend...my brother, shot me...and it was my fault.”

 

He had Kurosaki’s attention, he could feel the hybrid’s eyes burning into him. Instead of skipping this rock, he threw it as hard as he could. It didn’t go all that far, disappearing with the rest beneath inky waves. Grimmjow started, “I thought I’d go to hell, I thought I’d deserve nothing less than suffering, after all that I’d done.”

 

“Grimmjow…”

 

“Shut up, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said softly. His voice was almost lost among the waves and the cry of distant gulls. “I’m not done.”

  
  


\--- xxx ---

 

I teased hell, I wanna do something with that, so that’s probably, maybe going to happen. If you read this, surprise lol Not many have. This is some angsty slice of life shit.


End file.
